"What's Next?"
Once-Teacher (with resources!), Teach For America Staff, Writer, Runner, Reader, Actress, Dancer. Always on the lookout for what challenge to take on next | Writing/thoughts/opinions are my own.
President Bartlet: When I ask 'What's Next?' it means I'm ready to move on to other things. So, what's next?
-The West Wing
New To What's Next? Some of My Faves:
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Q: Do you ever read self-help? Anything you recommend?
A: I’m a self-help queen, dedicated to continuous improvement. I read books about problems I...
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Cartoon logic: come on now.
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“Good cover songs are about necessity — something about the source material that needed to be revisited, revised, redone or otherwise rescued from the...”
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My favorite childhood doctor can still make me smile.
Today we’re kicking off “We the Geeks,” a new series of Google+ Hangouts to highlight the future of science, technology, and innovation.
Want to join in? Tune in at 2 p.m. ET.
(via tfa-ohana)
That moment where you finally step out into the world, feel the solid ground beneath your feet, see how blue the sky is, feel your heart swell with a soundbyte and just think:
Oh! THIS is what has been missing! This is what this felt like! Thanks for reminding me!
Pure, unfettered joy indeed.
5 Little Successes
One:
Success is the unopened bottle
of white wine chilling in your fridge. The one
that you were so sure you would need
to get through the night, but sits there,
unopened.
Two:
Success is found in the red, puffy eyes you have
the morning after the night you broke down.
The one where panic set in or you were terrified
your heart would never mend. But now, though raw, there are
no more tears.
Three:
Success is seen in the silence you keep, though
it breaks both your hearts. You were so sure that
you would never be able to stop shooting words
into space, but now you see the only way to mend is
to make space.
Four:
Success is the first time you wake up and you don’t think
about him in your waking moments. He, who used to intertwine
into your very being in as the sun peeked through the curtains
is nowhere to be found, and there is room for
someone else.
Five:
Success is the first boy who makes your heart leap
after the last one. The one you were so sure would
surround your heart like a second skin, that no one
would make you feel that way, but now you see that
we move on.
Our @poetwarriors <3
“You can only fit so many words in a postcard, only so many in a phone call, only so many into space before you forget that words are sometimes used for things other than filling emptiness. It is hard to build a body out of a words.”
Hey! Look! Glasses free for the first time in years!
Click here to find a delicious chocolate chip cookie recipe perfect for your own noms.
yes
(via pbstv)
Kiss kiss, bang bang.
Even when ghosts of past lives push forward,
their hands making imprints from the
inside of your chest, you must pause.
Breathe. Again. Good.
You are anchored here now. The ties
holding you against crashing waves are
softer, better for your skin than the ones
you wove from lightening-struck ligaments.
Yes, it might feel easier to give in and let
the sea engross you with its power and
barrel-roll your heart to take your breath away
but let yourself be held here now.
Both you and the ocean will be better for it.
The sea will not wait for those who can only dip
their toes in the water. And you, you know that
it is time to lower your sails and head to the harbor.
After years of being out at sea— the
twitch-muscles in my calves are so used to
the constant swaying of shaky hands and
fluid commitments that the stability of feeling
safe is so foreign it is almost dizzying.
My internal buoy has been measuring the
up-downs of surrounding ebbs and flows
for so long that simply sitting quietly while he holds
my hand is a level of sea-glass calm that skews
all of my previous internal measurements.
It’s ridiculous how quickly the body
adapts to a stormy climate, and I have
been living solely with sea-legs for so long
that navigating the charts of this relationship
means I’m still waiting for the ground to move
with every step I take. I am unsure how to stop trying
to calculate the moment when the sea will sweep
my foundation out from under me and I
will have to readjust my footing once more.
He mentioned that he was surprised at
how much I tossed and turned at night,
and I realized that it’s because
I’m so used to sleeping on turbulent
currents my body in unable to rest with
the term “smooth sailing” anymore.
It’s as if the only way I have measured
how much I am cared for is by calculating
the force with which my heart has been
plunged into the barrel of the waves.
I’m terrified that, in my attempt to get
back to my idea equilibrium I will throw him
into my hurricane heart instead. I fear he
will get sucked into the current of my
tossing and turning and get swept out to sea.
I don’t know how to broadcast that I
am used to raging weatherstorms, that I spent
so many years as the storm-tossed maiden
at the bow of the ship my ability to show
my feelings as been eroded away with
each pounding of a crashing wave.
Seeing this many storms has taught
me it easier to show nothing, even untrusting
of the steady stream of warm-aired affection
he uses to try and move this boat forward.
I don’t know how to stop thinking the gusts
of warm air are just signs that the storm is coming.
I don’t know how to stop looking for the black whirlpools
hidden along this new course I am supposed to chart.
I don’t know how to untie the knots in my tongue that
were trying to keep this ship together, but I am scared
that if I do not I will just get blown back into old storms
I have already navigated. I do know that I am tired of
looking at the backside of a lightening bolt and saying
“ah, yes, I have been struck this way before.”
As I continue to keep moving straight into it.
So I am relearning to navigate by the stars
instead of by misguided internal compass. I
am trying to give up my fear of sinking into the ocean
and hope to learn to jump in with both feet. Besides,
after this many storms, I’ve noticed that the sky’s blue is only
more vivid after you’ve shut your eyes to hold out salt-water.
Yes, you will have to blink away the drops of past-waves
that were pounding into you, but the darkness in that
moment may make the light of the next that much sweeter.
“Learning to be less stupid together.” I feel like that should be the education system’s motto.
whoa. #realtalk
(via fiberistanora)
1) Her impressive use of technology. Mama Beth rocks instagram, facebook, and even has a twitter account. In a world where it would be easy to step back and say “Nope. That wasn’t around for me. I have no interest,” Mom jumps in with both feet. She is always willing and excited to learn.
2) Her impressive ability to make me laugh. She is always funny, a biting intelligent with that she doesn’t share with everyone, but if you’re lucky enough to see it you’ll be in stitches.
3) A few weeks ago, I was home during a tough family time. It had been a sucky week. I woke up, and did something that I’m guessing is strange for most 25 year old women.
I crawled into bed with my mom. Ok, it’s probably strange for really most girls over the age of, you know, 10, but when I was thinking about my mom today, it struck me how calming feeling her near me still is. How, with my father, I am consistently provided an anchor, a support. I am immensely blessed that I never walk a step in this world without having my mother’s hands, spiritually, anchored around my heart. I never take a breath in without knowing that I am loved, unconditionally, by a strong woman who taught me how to love that way as well.
Happy Mother’s Day, Mom
“There is nothing like that moment where you help a kid see their future potential.”
The story of @teachforamerica.
I have come with a nomad’s heart and a travelers’s body.
After years of being out at sea— the
twitch-muscles in my calves are so used to
the constant swaying of shaky hands and
fluid commitments that the stability of feeling
safe is so foreign it is almost dizzying. My
internal buoy has been measuring the
up-downs of surrounding ebbs and flows
that simply sitting quietly while he holds
my hand is a level of sea-glass calm that skews
all of my previous internal measurements.
He mentioned that he was surprised at
how much I tossed and turned at night,
and I realized that it’s because
I’m so used to sleeping on turbulent
jetstreams my body doesn’t know
how to rest on smooth skies any longer.
I’m terrified that, in my attempt to get
back to my equilibrium I will throw him
into my tornadoed heart instead. He
will get sucked into the current of my
tossing and turning and get taken out to sea.
It’s ridiculous how quickly the body
adapts to a stormy climate, and
I don’t know how to broadcast that I
am raging weatherstorms untrusting of temperance.
Pup Launches Neighborhood Recycling Program
A 5-month-old puppy named Otto was disappointed to learn that his area of Phoenix, AZ didn’t recycle plastic.
“They take metal and paper, but no plastic bottles,” says Johnathan Mitchell, Otto’s neighbor. “It’s 2013 for crying out loud, I don’t know what’s taken them so long.”
Rather than wait for the city government to act, Otto has taken the initiative and launched a localized plastic recycling program.
“He goes door to door collecting bottles,” says Mitchell. “He drives them to the closest processing center, which is on the other side of town. It’s a bit of a haul, but until we get more trucks or facilities in our neck of the woods, there will be a lot of plastic heading to the landfill. Otto’s on a mission to change that.”
Submitted by Sean.
This is my cousins dog Otto! Yay!!
